


Don't Fear the Reaper

by EventHorizon



Category: Cabin Pressure, Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Discworld AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death's new apprentice, Martin, meets his most troublesome 'client' yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Fear the Reaper

      “Hi!  Who are you?  My name’s Arthur.”

Great, one of the talky ones.  And… he was waving.  Perfect.

      “I’m here to send you on your way from this life.  If you’d just allow me to…”

      “I don’t understand.”

They never did.  At least most were confused enough that he could get his job done without all the muss and fuss of a conversation.  And an explanation.

      “You’ve passed on Mr. …. Shappey.”

      “Passed on what?  Usually if someone offers me something, I say yes, even if don’t especially want it because it makes the person happy to think you like whatever it is they’re offering and I really like to make people happy.  That’s why I sell sweets!  Everyone’s happy when they have a nice piece of chocolate or a lolly to lick.”

It really wasn’t possible for him to get a headache, but the time-space fabric might just be shifting in the right direction tonight to make it happen.

      “Passed on, as in passed away.  You’re dead.”

Of course he’d be laughing.  He really shouldn’t have expected anything else, should he?

      “Silly Mr. … Man.  I’m not dead.  I wouldn’t be talking to you if I was, now would I?  Oh dear, did the lads at the tavern put that peach drink in my juice again?  They really do know it’s best not to do that, but I think sometimes they forget.  Are you a hallucination?  It’s ok if you are, you’re very nice and I don’t mind talking to you anyway.”

      “I don’t know about any peach drink or tavern lads or anything like that.  And I am certainly not a hallucination!  I’m Death!  Well, his apprentice, at least, and you are very definitely dead.  Look, there’s your body right there.”

      “Oh, I do have to admit that looks like me.”

      “That’s because it _is_ you.  Now, if you’ll come along…”

      “Mr. Death, why am I dead?”

      “One, my name is not Mr. Death.  Two, do you mean that in the existential sense or the practical sense?”

      “Come again?”

Practical, it is.

      “You, Arthur Shappey of Ankh-Morpork, own, or owned, a sweet shop situated on a piece of property currently desired by one Douglas Richardson, also of Ankh-Morpork and…”

      “He’s a very nice person.  Comes to visit often and tells me every time how much he likes my shop!  He visits the other shops around me, too, though I’m not sure who works there now, since I haven’t seen Mr. Budge or Mrs. Tancy in a very long time.”

      “… _and_ your refusal to sell your shop to him, let alone understand his offer, apparently set him about implementing more… final… measures.  As with your Mr. Budge and Mrs. Tancy.”

Who went far more easily into the next world than this Arthur.

      “Wait a moment… are you saying that Mr. Richardson, who is a very nice man, even though I don’t understand a lot of what he says when he starts to go on about progress and  expansion, gave me that conk on the head that’s got my hair all messy.”

      “No, Mr. Richard hired someone to do that.  If it’s any consolation, no one in the Assassin’s Guild would take the commission and he had to bring in outside help.  Apparently you are… were… very well liked and lots of little assassin’s children say you have… had… the best sweets shop in the city.”

      “Brilliant!  Oh, I love the little kiddies!  And I make sure that all of them, even the ones that can only give a button or a really pretty rock or sing me a song get to leave with a nice bag of sweets when they visit.”

      “You weren’t a very profitable business, were you?”

      “Who needs extra money when you can make the kiddies smile?  On one hand you’ve got money and on the other you’ve got big smiles and songs and get to talk to people and have a brilliant time.  I think that’s far more important, don’t you?”

This was why he hated the talky ones.  He was _not_ supposed to feel for the people he reaped.  That wasn’t the way to go about things if you wanted to do the job efficiently.  Not supposed to really wish that good people like Arthur could get another chance because there just weren’t many of them in the world to begin with and every one he visited was a terrible, terrible loss.

      “I have no need for money, so I can’t really comment.  Now, please… it’s time for you to go.”

      “Where?”

      “Wherever it is you’ll go.”

      “And where might that be?”

      “I don’t really know, if you want the truth.  It’s different for everyone, I’ve been told.”

      “Will they have sweets shops?”

      “Part of saying ‘I don’t know’ is meaning that I don’t know.”

      “Oh, well all I’ve really ever done is run my shop and that’s pretty much all I know how to do.  Except cook.  I’m an _amazing_ cook and people have told me that they’ve never had as unique an experience as when they’ve let me make them a nice dinner.”

      “That’s very nice, I’m sure, but…”

      “So, if there aren’t any sweets shops, are there nice little cafes or stands or restaurants or anything like that so I can cook?”

      “Truthfully, I’ve never been to the other side and I can’t tell you what it’s like!”

      “Then what am I supposed to do?”

      “Be happy?”

      “How can I be happy if I don’t have something to do?  I really like having things to do and making people smile or helping them when they need it.  I’m not sure I’ll like being dead very much if I can’t do any of that.”

      “That’s not really my department…”

      “Can I help _you_?”

It wasn’t necessary to knock his head to clear his ears, but anything was worth a try at this point.

      “What?  _Help_ me?”

      “Yes!  That’s a brilliant idea!  I can help you with all of your deathy things and we’ll have a super time!”

It _would_ be nice to have someone to… NO!

      “I don’t need help, thank you.”

      “I think you do.  I mean, you’ve got a lot of people to visit, so I’m sure you are really quite busy and I’m also sure I could help you be _less_ busy and we’d have fun while we do it!”

      “I am perfectly capable of doing an effective and efficient job on my own.”

      “Of course you are, but it’s still nicer when you can have someone to talk to while you work.  And I’m very good with people.  I actually bought a little pamphlet from Mr. Dibbler about how to understand people that was written by some monks, so you know it has to be brilliant, and I have to have read it twenty times!  So, I can talk to them just like you’re talking to me and make them feel better about being dead because I’m sure some people are probably quite cross when they find out it’s happened to them.  And… oh I hate to think about this because it makes me want to have a little cry… but I’d actually very much like to be there when there was a little kiddie you had to … say hello to.  I’m super with the little ones and I’m sure I could make them not so sad and miss their mums and dads so much.  Make the wait easier until their mums and dads were dead, too, and they could all be together again!”

The children _were_ the hardest.  And he was absolutely crap with children.

      “So what do you say?  I can’t not be dead and this way I get to do something useful, which is the best thing in the world, and we can be friends and do things together and… oh, this is a brilliant idea!”

The dead moved on.  Period.  They went on to the next world, whatever it was, and that was the end of the story as far as he was concerned.  But… well, the job _was_ hard and he _did_ get lonely… plus, he’d never actually had a friend before.

      “Pleeeeeeeease.... please please please please please…”

The scythe was a tool.  Just an incredibly powerful and infinitely dangerous tool.  But sometimes, when it was very quiet, you could hear it thrum as if it were alive.  And even fewer sometimes, that thrum almost seemed to have a purpose.  Like sounding a great deal as if it was mimicking Arthur’s very excited humming… well, he’d never actually been _told_ he couldn’t take on a helper…

      “I suppose we can give it a try.  But if it doesn’t work out, off to the next world you go without any argument.”

      “Hurray!  Thanks, Mr. Death!  This will be completely brilliant, just you wait and see.”

      “I am NOT Mr. Death.   I just work for him.”

      “Then what’s your name?”

      “Martin.”

      “Martin?”

      “Is that a problem?”

      “No… yes… well, you just don’t look very much like a Martin.  Or a Marty, so that’s no good either.  Do you have a nickname?  Something your friends gave you when you were small?”

Friends… enemies, bullies, people he envied, people he avoided, people who ignored him… he did have a name, but it wasn’t a nice one.  Not given in a nice way, that is.  But, maybe having someone use it in a nice way would make it into something better.

      “Skip.  Or Skipper.  I liked to skip and jump a lot when I was young.  It felt like, for a few seconds, I was flying.”

And made him look silly in front of the other kids, but it was worth it for those few fleeting moments in the air.  He’d wanted more than anything to be able to turn into a bird and soar in the sky, but there wasn’t a drop of wizard’s blood in his veins, so on the ground he stayed.

      “Yes!  I love Skip!  And you _do_ look like a Skip, too, so it’s perfect!  Hello, Skip!  I’m Arthur and I’m your new friend!  Do we get to go to work now?  Oh, and where do we live?  I suppose I’ll live with you now, since I’m your helper, and that’s wonderful since we can talk and play games and sing and do all sorts of things and don’t you worry if I have to sleep on the floor because that’s not a problem.  I always sleep in a bed so it’ll be like an adventure!”

Oh yes, they would have to live together, wouldn’t they?  That was going to be an interesting conversation with … _him_.

      “I think we can give you your own bed.  Your own room, too… it’s rather a sizeable house when it wants to be.”

      “This is going to be even better than I thought!  And people say dying is a bad thing – this is the _best_ thing that’s ever happened to me!  I’ll cook you a huge breakfast in the morning to celebrate.”

And _that_ was a conversation he was actually looking forward to.  Albert and Arthur together in the kitchen… they didn’t offer entertainment like that in any theater anywhere!

      “That sounds very nice.  Now… we have to go.  Lots to do, you know.”

      “Of course.  Do I get a uniform?”

      “No.”

      “Can I have a uniform?”

      “I don’t have one to give you.  All I really have is this robe… you can borrow it if you want.”

      “That’s ok.  It’s probably not the proper thing to do, going about helping people die wearing only your pants.  I know!  I’ll make myself a uniform!  And I’ll make you one, too.  Brilliant!  This keeps getting better and better!”

And, despite the absurdity of it all, Martin had to agree.

      “Yes, it does.  Ready?”

      “Absolutely, Skipper.  Lead on!”

And he did.  To the most wonderful eternity Martin _Skipper_ Crieff could have ever dreamed.  

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for making Douglas a villain... it was just too tempting to give him a little payback for all of his Martin-baitng ;-)
> 
> More short Arthur and Martin pieces on my Short Works page of my tumblr:
> 
> http://eventhorizon451.tumblr.com/short_works
> 
> Stop by anytime and browse...


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